


Don't give up on me now

by dead_mosquito



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), Character Death Fix, Dutch is Sad, Fix-It, Fluff, I just want a happy ending, M/M, Post-Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), THIS IS DEPRESSING, and wants to like, dutch realises he's been a dick, hosea didnt deserve to die, is that too much to ask, micah deserves to die, not be a dick anymore, someone get this guy a therapist, vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-05-13 19:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19257712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dead_mosquito/pseuds/dead_mosquito
Summary: Hosea survives, BUT Dutch doesn't find out until after he returns from Guarma. Luckily Sadie is out here being a fucking hero.





	1. He survived

Arthur was the first to return to camp. Exhausted, determined, the camp unfamiliar but damn was he glad to see the people again. Guarma seemed like a surreal nightmare, so recent yet so far. Despite the law, the danger, his tired eyes, eyelids heavy, muscles aching, he felt safe. But there was still the question burning in his mind. Not wanting to mention it, not wanting to remember it, the memory encasing his heart within an icy hand, dragging claws through his veins, but he had to. 

“So, did you bury Hosea?” he asked vaguely, generally, targeting no-one in particular, trying not to put too much emphasis on the words, to distance himself from them entirely. Sadie responded, the temporary leader until Dutch’s soon arrival, and doing a good job at it. She looked away for a moment, before responding. 

“We didn’t have to.” 

 

Dutch returned, clearly impressed by Sadie’s leadership skills, glad to be back; much like Arthur, to be put simply. Only, from the moment he returned, despite being surrounded by his family, his heart ached, feeling so alone amidst the cheerful conversations. Everything just felt empty. Without Hosea. He missed him more than could be put into words. Hopelessly, he’d give anything just to see him again, but there was no way that was possible. No way to be reunited with him. Ever. 

 

The others sensed it, obviously, not that it wasn’t written all over his face despite his attempts at masking it. Sadie, especially, was torn. Overwhelmed with empathy, she knew his situation, to an extent. The difference here however, was that Hosea actually had a chance, he may well survive, but if he didn’t... It wasn’t fair to get Dutch’s hopes up. But it was surely even more unfair to not at least tell him, there was a chance, to give him a chance. Sadie observed Dutch for a moment, gazing at the ground absently, eyes dark, helpless, sad, holding a kind of heartbreak few could understand. She couldn’t just let him suffer like that. Hesitantly, she rose to her feet, clearing her throat, gaining the attention of the majority. 

“Dutch,” he didn’t react, not registering the words, barely hearing them. Slowly he turned to her, upon her repeating his name, though still distracted, looking through her rather than at her. Sighing, she realised in that moment that if Hosea didn’t survive, Dutch wouldn’t either, the gang wouldn’t. He needed him. For her to not inform him would’ve been immoral entirely. 

“Uh... Just follow me, it’s important.” 

 

Leading Dutch a short distance away to a secluded area, they spoke no words. Reaching a small lone tent aside the main camp, Sadie paused before entering. For the first time in a while, Dutch looked up. His breath caught in his throat, eyes immediately flooding with tears which he only half-heartedly attempted to hold back. Wishing to speak, but unable to form words. Taking a step forward, he collapsed beside the cot, clutching his partner’s limp hand in his own, entranced by the gentle, rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. 

“He survived?” It was barely a whisper, not needing to be anything more. 

“Just about.” Sadie responded. Dutch, still gripping Hosea’s hand in his own, closed his eyes for a moment. Sadie left swiftly, no more words exchanged, no more words necessary. Tears rolled steadily down Dutch’s cheeks. 

 

“Hosea, if you can hear me, please you have to make it. For me. Please. I love you.” Dutch swore he felt Hosea weakly squeeze his hand in response.


	2. An Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah is a piece of shit we do not stan.

Dutch refused to leave Hosea’s side for the time that followed. Near motionless, grasping Hosea’s hand desperately, silently begging for his survival, begging nobody and nothing, just wishing relentlessly. Arthur would go to him occasionally, if not to insist Dutch eat or sleep, just to check how Hosea was. Dutch rarely responded to what Arthur said, and even less frequently looked at him when he spoke, though Arthur never held this against Dutch, having never seen him so genuinely worried, afraid – terrified, really. Despite his insisting, Arthur could barely ever manage to get Dutch to eat or rest, the darkness beneath his eyes growing to match the void within them, his skin ashen, cheeks hollow. Despite his frustration at Dutch’s lack of co-operation, not significantly just marginally irritated, Arthur continued to check on them both, and Dutch didn’t protest. 

 

Dutch sighed, brushing a gentle hand over his partner’s cheek, unnerved by how cold his skin felt but at the very least glad he hadn’t developed a fever. 

“Oh, Hosea,” He whispered, voice hoarse, barely audible, “Please, wake up. I need you. The gang needs you. I can’t do this without you. Please, darlin’, I love you so much, please wake up.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, bringing Hosea’s hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on his fingers. Hearing footsteps approaching, he moved the hand away, not that there was much point; what little cover they’d had to deny the nature of their relationship was destroyed entirely, though most in the gang were already aware of said relationship. 

“Hey, Dutch,” He had expected it to be Arthur, but he was mistaken. Micah. He didn’t turn to look at him and didn’t respond. Without warning, he felt a rough hand grab his shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a friendly manner. Dutch tensed immediately. 

“How’s the old man doing?” There was more than a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, “Not speaking, huh, Dutch? C’mon, you can talk to me.” Upon his remaining silent, Micah knelt to be level with him, gripping his jaw and turning his head forcefully to look at him, but Dutch pulled away with surprising strength for a man that hadn’t eaten or slept in more than a few days. However angry Micah was becoming, Dutch was becoming angrier. 

“Forget about him, Dutch. He ain’t gonna make it, we should move camp, I found a place. He wasn’t supposed to survive anyway...” Dutch’s head snapped towards Micah so quickly it seemed as though his neck may well break. Glaring at Micah, he subconsciously extended his fingers towards his gun. 

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snarled and Micah suddenly seemed incredibly flustered stumbling to his feet and backing away from Dutch, who couldn’t help but notice the panic in Micah’s voice as he stuttered apology and excuse. Suspicious. 

“I-I didn’t mean it like, like th-that, Dutch, I swear! I didn’t, I just... I misspoke is all, I want Hosea to survive just as, as, as much as anyone else. J-just forget about it,” Dutch didn’t buy any of it, an unmistakeable look of fury contorting his feature, ushering Micah to leave without a further word. Dutch was ready to follow him though, or at the very least inform Arthur to keep an eye on him. And he would’ve. He would’ve had he not heard a weak cough from beside him, turning hurriedly to look as Hosea’s eyes fluttered open slightly. He was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how to write oop sorry but i tried. Anyway micah will be dead by the end of the fic dw.


	3. We'll be okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good fluff ig

“Hey,” Hosea croaked, voice small and hoarse. Overwhelmed with relief, Dutch momentarily forgot how to form words, instead falling into place beside Hosea on the edge of the cot, taking Hosea’s hand in his own gently, who smiled faintly. 

“I... I thought I was going to lose you, I thought I had lost you. I...” Dutch eventually said, tears pooling in his eyes finally overflowing and, despite his blurry vision, Hosea could tell by the waver in Dutch’s voice. 

“I’m okay, Dutch, I’m okay,” Hosea insisted, though the absent, hazy gaze clouding his pupils and the sheer pain that dripped from his tone despite his attempts to steady his voice proved otherwise. 

“No, you... you’re not...” Dutch sighed, bringing Hosea’s hand towards his lips and placing a kiss to his fingers. Half-blindly, Hosea moved his hand to brush away the tears falling from Dutch’s cheeks. 

“I’ll be okay, we’ll all be okay, don’t worr-” Hosea was abruptly cut off as the oxygen seemed to suddenly be snatched from his lungs, forcing him to cough and splutter desperately. 

“Shit, I-I'll go, get you water,” Dutch said, rising quickly in panic, and swiftly exiting the tent, “I’ll be right back!” 

 

Dutch rushed quickly to gather water, so quickly he didn’t notice Arthur approaching him and nearly plummeted into him, but steadied himself at the last second. 

“Dutch, is everything okay, I-I heard you and Micah argu-” Arthur began. 

“Arthur, son, I need water. I mean Hosea needs water. I mean... Just bring some water over, please,” Dutch requested, struggling to organise the thoughts swimming through the inky black of his mind. 

“Wh- For Hosea? You mean he’s awake?” Dutch nodded happily in response, the genuine relief that Hosea had actually survived beginning to truly sink in, so much so he nearly laughed out loud in the pure reassurance. Yet he was already moving away, anxious to return to Hosea. 

“Just, bring the water over please Arthur, thank you!” Dutch called back, almost sprinting towards the tent. 

 

“Arthur is bringing the water,” Dutch explained, settling beside Hosea and resting his hand over the other’s. 

“Why, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave me for more than thirty seconds?” Hosea laughed, amused but affectionate, though his voice was still fragile and his laugh even more so. Dutch returned the chuckle with a distant smile which seemed like a sincere agreement with the statement, though he said nothing and Hosea chose against commenting on it. The two sat silently for a while, peacefully enjoying each other’s company despite the many unanswered questions lingering in the air, but they could wait, all the while Dutch gently stroking Hosea’s hand for his own reassurance more than the latter’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i basically forgot this existed so it took ages to write and i was gonna wrtie more for this chapter but i got bored so this is all i got


	4. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch reconsiders and regrets like a lot of his recent life choices because he's a fucking idiot and Micah can suck a dick.

Arthur entered what could’ve been a few minutes to a few hours later - the two too lost in their own thoughts intermingled with the comforting sounds of their steady breathing, both so glad the other had survived in a way words couldn’t - and didn’t need to - express, to notice the time passing. Hosea’s momentary explosion of coughing had long since ceased though his throat remained hoarse. 

 

Hosea smiled at Arthur as he approached, a cup of water in hand. Dutch turned to face him also though his gaze lingered on Hosea a while longer, struggling to break it away for but a second, for fear if he did Hosea may die and Dutch would be thrown into the unforgiving abyss of grief and loss, his soul abandoned there leaving him a hollow shell of a person, of the man he had once been. He struggled to look away for fear that everything that mattered to him would be stolen away. Eventually, he dragged himself out of the swirling thoughts within his mind to look at Arthur. And he did. He really looked at him, for the first time since returning from Guarma. 

 

This was his boy; his son. And he’d been... neglecting him? That hurt to even think, and yet, he’d barely spoken to him unless it was to inform him of another job, order him to complete another task or chore with less thanks than what was necessary, or courteous at the least. And he was grateful, but he failed to ever express that. This was his boy and he’d been demanding work from him like he didn’t matter. But he did, and he always had. Despite how he’d been slaving after Dutch, working relentlessly, more than anybody else, despite Dutch showing little to no appreciation, Arthur had been checking Dutch and Hosea nearly every day. Insisting Dutch eat, offering to watch Hosea so he could rest for a while - not that Dutch ever took him up on that offer - bringing supplies, food, water to the two without even being asked. Arthur’s frame was growing thinner, frailer, skin ashen, eyes sunken from being overworked. Dutch couldn’t help but feel responsible, even after Guarma, when he’d been ordering nothing from anybody, when Arthur really had the freedom and choice to not work whatsoever if he so wished, when Arthur could just leave and it’s unlikely Dutch would even notice. 

 

Dutch had a gang, he was the leader, but where had he been all this time? He’d refused to leave Hosea’s side, cooped up in a tent, and nobody could blame him, nobody would blame him, he’d almost lost the most important person in the world to him, but they were all tired and losing hope. He was supposed to be the one bringing it to them. He should’ve been the one bringing it to them. But he hadn’t. Hosea was awake now, so he had no excuse. And he didn’t want one, didn’t need one. So close to losing Hosea, so close to losing Arthur (more than once), so, so close to losing everything. 

 

Since Blackwater, he felt he’d been failing as their leader. He wanted to change, wanted to be better, a better leader and a better person. Since Blackwater. Since Micah. And he wouldn’t have ever blamed Micah on little more than a suspicion before, but from what he’d said... he just couldn’t risk it anymore. Loyalty was important to Dutch; it always had been. Loyalty from his family, his friends, his gang. But perhaps it was time he started having this same loyalty, trusting in the right people, those he’d known for years, those who’d stuck by him. Hosea, Arthur, John... But not Micah. 

 

And why he’d trusted Micah so blindly, despite the many complaints and reprimands from Hosea and Arthur, was unknown, even to him. Because, sure he was a good shot and had proposed many opportunities for the gang, but he wasn’t exactly the kind of person Dutch would typically trust. He’d somehow attempted to justify overlooking the frequent racist and sexist comments Micah had made. And the so called ‘opportunities’ which almost always resulted in death or being hunted by the law with an ever-growing price on each of their head’s. Nothing could change what had already happened, but he had to make sure these things didn’t happen again. He couldn’t afford another failure like Blackwater, and the bank job... well, that was a little more complicated. 

 

“Uh, Dutch? You doing okay there?” Arthur asked tentatively placing a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and shaking him lightly. 

“Wh- oh yeah, I’m... I'm fine.” Dutch raised a hand to his head, feeling a dull throbbing pain which hadn’t ceased since he’d hit his head in the trolley job. 

“You sure? Think we lost you for a minute there,” Hosea said, concern lingering in his tone and eyes. 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m just...” He ran a hand uneasily through his unkempt hair and sighed, “I’m fine.” Hosea and Arthur shared a brief, troubled glance. 

“You need to rest Dutch, please,” Arthur, who’s hand was still on Dutch’s shoulder, began gently guiding him away, “I’ll stay here, Hosea’ll be fine, just-” 

“No! No, I have to stay, I have to stay with Hosea, I can’t...” Dutch pulled away from Arthur. 

“I’ll be fine, go get some rest or you’ll make yourself sick,” Hosea encouraged gently, placing his hand over Dutch’s and squeezing it reassuringly. 

“No, I-I can’t lose you, I can’t leave you, I have to stay here or I’ll lose you again, I-I can’t,” Dutch’s breaths were becoming panicked, hands trembling. Hosea hated seeing him like this but he was scarcely staying conscious himself. He wanted so desperately to bring Dutch into his arms, hold him close and promise him everything would be okay until he calmed down, but doing so much as sit up was too painful to withstand. So instead, he rubbed soothing circles onto Dutch’s hand. 

“Dutch... Look at me,” Hosea whispered and Dutch obeyed, “I’ll be fine. You can stay here, if you must, but please, you have to sleep. You don’t look well. Please, for me.” Dutch nodded hesitantly, sinking to the ground, leaning against Hosea’s cot, still clinging to Hosea’s hand for the comfort he was still there. Sleep claimed him almost instantaneously, the endless nights spent awake trembling beside an unconscious Hosea finally having effect. Hosea didn’t pull his hand away as Dutch slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost a chapter while i was writing this so if there are inconsistencies I apologise.


	5. What happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea and Arthur talk about stuff while Dutch sleeps and Hosea thinks about some stuff.

“He really loves you, huh?” Arthur muttered, passing the water to Hosea, having realised that he’d been holding it the entire time, too preoccupied trying to get Dutch to agree to rest. Hosea thanked Arthur but didn’t respond, deciding no response to such a simple and obvious question was necessary. Instead he tried to raise himself into a more upright position. A gasp of pain escaped his lips as he winced. Tightening his grip around the glass, he took a deep, shaking breath, insufferable agony surging through his blood. 

“Damn, you okay? Here, let me help,” Arthur said, concern lingering on his features as he reached towards Hosea. 

“No, I’m,” another deep breath, “...Fine. I’m okay,” Hosea insisted, though it was through gritted teeth. 

“Hosea, you really don’t seem fine...” 

“No, no, Arthur I am, I’m fine. Just hurts a little, is all,” Hosea finally admitted. 

“I don’t doubt it.” 

 

A silence hung in the air, too tense to be comfortable but too comfortable to be tense. Hosea raised the glass to his mouth, feeling the water slide down his throat, cold, soothing against the pain in his wound and lungs. 

“We... we all thought you were... We didn’t think there was even a possibility that you... would... survive.” Well, that was certainly one way to break the silence. 

“I know, Arthur,” 

“We wouldn’t’ve left you if we’d known...” 

“I know, Arthur,” 

“None of us really knew what to do, Dutch was pretending everything was still under control but, I don’t know, he seemed lost without you and...” 

“Arthur,” there was something in his voice compelling Arthur to look at him, finally making eye contact, “I know.” Arthur held the look for a few moments more before breaking and turning away with a sigh. Silence surrounded them again. 

 

“What happened after I got shot?” Arthur looked at Hosea. 

“Dutch didn’t tell you?” Hosea shook his head. Arthur thought for a brief moment, removing his hat and worrying the rim of it. 

“I don’t need to know everything, just a summary, I suppose. Don’t like being the only one uninformed. I trust Dutch’ll fill me in on the details if I ask him to.” Arthur nodded slightly. 

“We... ran, hid out until dark. Managed to get past every god damn Pinkerton looking for us, Charles borderline sacrificed himself for our escape. Got on a boat, don’t even remember where it was goin’. There was a fire on board after a storm hit, the others got on a boat but I was trapped, had to jump straight in the ocean.” He followed it with a bitter laugh, “Washed up on Guarma.” 

“Where?” 

“Some old sugar plantation island, I think Dutch said,” 

“Anything like Tahiti?” Hosea joked, Arthur scoffing at the suggestion. 

“I wish. No, it was a bad place, Hosea. Got captured by some soldiers, Javier got shot, but we escaped. I got captured and escaped again. Went to rescue Javier, Dutch...” Arthur paused, looking at the man, asleep, still clutching Hosea’s hand. Even in rest, he looked tired and... afraid, “Dutch killed a woman... In cold blood... Again...” Hosea’s hand visibly tightened around Dutch’s, a calculating look clouding his vision. 

“Why’d he do it?” Hosea whispered.  
“Paid her to help us, the only gold we had left. She got pissed when we didn’t give her any more, pulled a knife on us. Dutch killed her with his bare hands. He wasn’t himself, wasn’t thinking straight. He missed you, maybe he just wanted to vent his anger, maybe that’s what really mattered, more than the money. I don’t know. I swear in that moment he could’ve put a gun to my head and I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Hosea sighed, pulling his hand from Dutch’s grasp and putting his head in his palms. Dutch stirred beside him, whimpering as Hosea’s hand left his own, threatening to wake. Rolling his eyes, Hosea hushed him, returning his hand. 

“You don’t mean that, Arthur. He wouldn’t do that, not to you, no, you’re like a son to him, to us... But... sometimes I just... I don’t get him anymore. All this killing, I mean we ain’t ever been perfect but, this isn’t right, this isn’t him.” Hosea sighed, looking more exhausted than Arthur could ever remember seeing him. 

“He’ll come around, just... please don’t die?” 

Hosea laughed, “I don’t plan on it... I just hope Dutch sees sense soon, we’ve worked too hard for too long to lose everything now.” Arthur nodded his agreement, “How’d you get away from Guarma?” 

“Uh, don’t worry about all that not right now, just a distraction, shoot off, nothing different to what you’re used to. Get some rest, Hosea,” Arthur responded, placing his hat back on his head and making his way to leave. 

“Was good talking to you, Arthur,” 

“Yeah, you, too,” Arthur paused by the exit, “One more thing,” Hosea looked up, intrigued, “Don’t trust Micah, heard some things, suspicious to say the least, and with any luck Dutch won’t trust him either.” Hosea nodded sternly, Arthur tipping his hat and exiting. 

 

Hosea was tired. So very tired. Exhaustion drowning him, suffocating him, pounding in his head and beating at his stomach. The effort it took to breath, each choking, strangled inhale, each sharp, painful exhale, was almost unbearable. Slightest movements ached his joints. He just wanted to sleep. But thoughts swarmed his mind, attacking his every waking moment. 

Thoughts of the gang, of how the hell they were going to get out of here, because part of him still felt it was his responsibility, to think of a plan B, to reassure Dutch but ensure he kept his plans realistic, to make sure everybody was safe. And he had to, but – no, he was injured, badly, it was a damn miracle he had survived at all. Yet, if he didn’t, who would? Sadie and Charles seemed to have been doing a pretty good job, and they may have to stay in control for a while longer, what with how Dutch seemed. 

He thought of Dutch, the subject reoccurring frequently in his mind. The man he loved, loved so, so much. That was undeniable and undebatable, but it was like he didn’t even know him from how he’d been acting recently, from how he’d been talking. Or hadn’t known him. Since he’d returned from Guarma, he seemed... different. Not in a bad way certainly. No, it was more like he’d began reverting back to how he’d been, before Blackwater, before the gang had grown so big. When Dutch and Hosea hadn’t felt it so necessary to hide from everyone, when people found about their relationship at as they did and didn’t seem to mind, for the most part. He missed that. A time before the weight of the world was on Dutch’s shoulders and Hosea was the only one he’d share it with. He looked exhausted. Hosea felt it. He had to sleep. 

He had to sleep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah this took forever to post because i procrastinate but it's longer than usual so you're welcome if anyone cares


	6. Just a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch needs a therapist.

_ He could’ve killed Milton right there. Could’ve just killed him and ran. But maybe he could talk his way out of this one, talk enough that Hosea would be given an opening to escape. It had worked before in similar situations. They could outsmart the Pinkertons. Put like that it was simple, nothing simpler than outsmarting some brainwashed dumb-fucks, too greedy, too selfish to notice the damage. Talk for long enough to distract them, or say the right thing to fuck with Milton, to get him to think, if that was possible, to lose focus so Hosea could get out of there. Nothing could be simpler. _

_ Moving briefly from cover, he glanced at his partner, eyes connecting. He saw something in Hosea’s eyes, he’d convinced himself, insisted it was doubt. In many ways that hurt more. But- no, it wasn’t doubt, it was fear. Maybe he’d been to insecure and scared himself to notice it but this situation was not ideal. Not just this situation specifically. Since Blackwater, it had been uncomfortable, to say the least. One wrong move and it could all be over. Dutch had... made a lot of wrong moves. Too many. Too many people had been hurt, been killed, not just his gang either. They had killed many, he preached an idealistic future, but he preached morals. Morals. Too many innocent people, gone in an instant, he could blame no-one but himself. And perhaps that was why he had insisted everyone had been doubting him. The weight of the guilt, like chains around his wrists, was far worse than what he would ever admit, even to Hosea.  _

_ They were speaking now, Milton and him, but Dutch wasn’t really listening, nor was he planning what to say, how to say it. He should’ve been, it could’ve worked. But the voices sounded distant, even his own, like he was drowning. Maybe he was drowning. The plan had backfired terribly, all his plans were... Hosea had... always insisted he didn’t think like that. Tell him to have hope within himself, that if he couldn’t even believe himself, he would never believe others had hope in him either. Hope. “Just hope, we’ll find every error, every loophole and we’ll fix it. We’ll prepare for every possibility. It’ll be okay. Have faith and it’ll be okay, I promise,” He had... liked that. Faith. What it meant to him, to Hosea, to Arthur and John. When things weren’t so complicated. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a desire for the simplicity before. The bliss. And the overwhelming desire for Hosea to hold him in his arms, close, safe, loved. But he was in the bank. Hosea was out there. He needed him. He needed him. He had to save him. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his fingers around the trigger of his gun.  _

_ He abandoned  _ _ cover _ _. _

_ Raised his gun. _

_ Pulled the trigger.  _

_ Milton stood, staring incredulous at Dutch. And then... _

_ He fell.  _

_ Not Milton.  _

_ Hosea crashed to the ground, as did the gun slipping from Dutch’s trembling fingers.  _

_  No.  _

_ He hadn’t meant to- _

_ It was his fault. _

_ He’d killed Hosea. _

_ Their eyes met again, for the last time. Something new lingered within them.  _

_ Betrayal _ _.  _

Entire body trembling, breath hitching in his lungs and escaping only in panicked gasps, Dutch’s eyes flashed open, darting around the darkness surrounding him. His eyes adjusted quickly, soon fixating on Hosea’s hand, tight within his own grip. He was here, Hosea was okay, they were... going to be okay.

“Hosea?” He whispered desperately into the darkness. No response. “Hosea?” Silence. Nausea persisted in his stomach, crawling up his throat. Hosea’s final moments repeating in his mind, the gunshot echoing, ringing in his ears. He clambered up from where he’d been sat, limbs heavy and aching. Breaths shaking, increasing panic, he placed a hand upon Hosea’s shoulder, shaking him slightly in his hysteria. 

“Hosea... Please I’m... I’m so sorry... so, so sorry, please wake up... I need you... I...” Dutch could barely breath, flooded with memories now not only of when Hosea had fallen to the ground lifelessly, but of the fleeting hope that Hosea would be okay, when he’d woken, survived. He’d been so foolish to believe it could last. 

“Please, Hosea... I’m so sorry...” was all Dutch could mumble through frantic breaths. It wasn’t fair.  It  wasn’t...

“Dutch?” Hosea’s response was quiet and exhausted, eyes fluttering a little before opening. Dutch was overcome with relief, so certain that Hosea was... “What is it, did something happen?” 

“Yeah... Well, no, not exactly, I mean... I’m just... I’m sorry, Hosea, if I’ve ever hurt you, if I’ve ever...” Dutch couldn’t meet his gaze.

“What are you talking about, my love?” For a reason Dutch struggled to understand, that stung; how could Hosea love him? After everything he’d done, how could anyone love him?

“I... Nothing, I’m sorry I woke you... Just forget about it... It doesn’t matter...” Dutch muttered, hiding his face in his hands and beginning to sink to the ground again. Hosea couldn’t see through the darkness to tell if Dutch was crying or not, but there was a distinct panic in his voice and breathing. 

“Hey, wait,” Hosea gently held his partner’s hand, moving gently to the side of the cot, “Come here, Dutch.” 

“No, I don’t  wanna  hurt you, you’re injured...” Dutch protested, though Hosea was already pulling him beside him into the cot, and Dutch was too unstable to bring himself to fight against him. 

“I’ll be okay, just avoid my stomach, hm?” Dutch nodded shakily, resting his head on Hosea’s shoulder and a hand on his chest. Hosea secured an arm around Dutch’s shoulder and gently rubbed his hand down his side in attempts to comfort him. 

“Tell me what happened,” Hosea kept his voice low and calm, reassuring. 

“I had a dream... It was... The bank and... I wanted to save you. I tried to... to shoot Milton but...” The hand Dutch had on Hosea’s chest gripped his shirt, and Hosea moved his own free hand to cover Dutch’s. 

“It’s okay, I’m here,” 

“I didn’t mean to... I tried to shoot  Milton,  I swear... I wasn’t aiming for you... I... I killed you...” Hosea could barely make out the final words, but he did and understood immediately why Dutch had been so panicked. Every nightmare, every anxious thought, every panic attack, Dutch had never hurt Hosea. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Look at me, darling,” Dutch looked up at him and Hosea’s heart broke at the tears streaming down Dutch’s cheeks, “Everything is okay. It was just a dream, I’m okay, I’m here, don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t ever do something like that, and you know it as well, you’re just... scared, and that’s okay, everything will be fine, I promise you.” Hosea kissed Dutch’s cheek briefly and wiped away tears drifting down. “Get some rest, Dutch.” He nuzzled into Hosea’s  neck,  tears wet against his skin. 

“I love you, Hosea,”

“Love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typing on a keyboard sounds so cool right? Like the clickity clackity- it's a good sound.


	7. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadie asks Arthur and John to get supplies but they run into a little trouble.

Sadie approached Arthur before the sun had risen, neither surprised at the other’s lack of rest, yet both noting their tired features. Arthur tipped his hat courteously, greeting Sadie quietly as not to disturb the other resting members of camp. 

“Hey, Arthur, how are you doing?” Sadie leaned against a tree beside him. 

“Been better... least I’m not dead,” Arthur joked bitterly, “How about you?” 

“ M’fine ,  but I  ain’t  the one who was stranded on  Guarma ,” Arthur chuckled a little.

“I  ain’t  the one trying to organise a camp , Mrs Adler.  Good job on that, by the way,”

“Don’t mention it,” Sadie waved him off, “ But I do need to ask a favour of you , wish I didn’t have to, but you’re one of the few people that I know I can trust right now.  Can’t afford any  mistakes  now, you know?”

“ Of course, what is it?”

“ I need you to go into Saint Denis- I know, I know, it sounds crazy. Problem is we  need supplies, medicine, food,  we’re running real low.  Saint Denis is the closest place,  anywhere else and I worry  people could be dead by the time you get back.  I hate to send you somewhere you’re wanted dead, Arthur, but...” Arthur stood, shaking his head a little.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m wanted dead everywhere, I’m used to it at this point.  Is anyone else awake?”

“Yeah, John is I think,  I’d go with you but need someone back here  to ‘organise the camp’ as you put it,”  Arthur started making his way to where John was sitting,  “Be quick and be careful, please ,”

“Will do, Sadie.  You should get some rest, I’m sure soon as Hosea’s recovered a little and Dutch is back to his usual self you’ll be granted that, at least,”  Sadie smiled at him  and nodded as Arthur saluted a farewell.

“ C’mon, we  gotta  get supplies, mount up,”  Arthur  informed John, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Now?  Arthur, it’s not even sunrise yet,  you  gotta  be kidding,” John  walked alongside Arthur towards the horses, despite his complaining , “Is there not some other time we can go?”

“Have you seen  how sick and tired and hungry people are, Marston?  Noticed how half of them like on the verge of death?”

“Yeah, but-“

“You want them to die?”

“Obviously not,”

“Then I best advise you come with me,”  Arthur mounted his horse swiftly, John quickly following suite.

The pair rode silently aside from a few stray words, not wishing to alert anyone. They’d barely made it out of camp when they  heard some unnervingly familiar voices ahead.  Dismounting stealthily, they shared an anxious glance,  sneaking a little closer.

“Camp has been set up here, you say?” Milton’s voice was distinct, echoing just a little louder than necessary but hissing like a snake assessing  it’s  next prey. Another man responded, however his, but he voice was hushed and face blocked from view. John crept a little closer, Arthur silently pressuring him to come back, but John ignored him. Just a little closer to see... A little closer...

“The hell was that?” a Pinkerton, too disposable to be named by anyone in the gang, too much so for even Milton probably, turned his light into the dark. Arthur darted behind a tree and John into a bush, both praying they wouldn’t be noticed. Watching intently as the officer stepped into the overgrowth, Arthur could only hold is breath, John just a few feet away. Light flooded the leaves John crouched beneath, illuminating his features ghostly white. 

“Gah- Shit! This is one of Dutch’s men! Milton!” The officer stumbled back. Arthur could only watch, some thirty officers, too many to fight away alone, John grabbed viciously and kicked to the ground. Milton surveyed John, who lay on his stomach, fighting ferociously, pushing away too many sets of hands, struggling desperately against too many men. 

“Alright- that’s enough! Tie him up, don’t let him get away!” The men quickly followed the orders. Milton grabbed John by the collar, lifted him to eye level. 

“Mr. Marston, it’s been a while. I’ve almost missed you,” John stayed silent, every muscle in Arthur’s body tensing, urging him to protect his brother, but that would prove fruitless, he knew. Milton raised a knife to John’s throat.

“I should kill you right now, you know. But first, let’s talk. How have you been? What about your wife and your boy- such a nice kid, shame if something bad were to happen to either of them,” Milton smiled, a twisted, warped smile, pressing the knife deeper into John’s throat with each menacing word. 

“Go near either of them and I’ll kill you,” John choked out, feeling droplets of blood drifting down his neck. Milton scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Good luck with that,” There was a brief pause, “Fine, maybe I can... cut you a deal. Dutch was right, this  _ is  _ America. Tell me the whereabouts of Dutch Van Der Linde and I’ll think about letting you go,” John’s head dropped, nervousness crawling up Arthur’s throat. John wouldn’t sell Dutch out, not after everything they’d been through, he couldn’t. And yet, he seemed to be genuinely considering it, no... John raised his head and looked back up at Milton, sighing. 

“Well?” John nodded a little. Arthur froze, clinging onto the tense silence as he waited for John’s next words, an eerie smile creeping across Milton’s face. Without warning. John’s head snapped up and he spat blood and saliva directly into Milton’s face. John looked almost feral, grinning wildly, leaves scattered in his hair, laughing at the disgust on Milton’s face as he threw John to the ground, and turned his back on him. 

“Kill him, he’s of no use to me!” 

“No- wait! Arthur, I can tell you where he is!” Milton stopped in his tracks.

“I’m listening,” 

“He isn’t at camp, he’s headed to Saint Denis,” 

“... Thank you, Mr. Marston, kill him now, boys,”

“Wait, wait! He went a specific secret route, but I’d have to show you! He only went a while ago so if we’re quick, we could cut him off before he gets there. Wish he’d head back to camp though, then we could, uh, stop him on his way back, if he started going back to camp that is, from Saint Denis, back to camp.” 

 

Arthur didn’t have to hear anything more to understand what John was doing. He stealthily ran back towards camp, only waiting long enough to hear Milton agree to take John with him. Once out of earshot, he broke into a sprint hoping his horse would forgive him for leaving her behind, trying not to think about what Milton would do when they found John was lying to them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I just couldn't find the time to write. also, if ya'll spot any errors,please point them out so i can fix them, or otherwise any constructive criticism is appreciated :)


	8. Just In Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes back to camp and informs the others of what's happened. Yikes.

“Sadie! Sadie!” Arthur hurtled into camp breathlessly, panic in his voice and eyes.

“What the hell, Arthur, you trying to wake everyone up?” 

“Actually, might not be a bad idea, the Pinkertons, they’re heading this way, or will be, John has them going to Saint Denis first though. John... He’s going to be in danger soon, and so are we,” Arthur spoke quickly, but coughed between words. Sadie swore under her breath.

“How many were there?” 

“Difficult to tell, thirty at least, I’d say, we can’t fight them, not like this,” Arthur sighed, feeling more exhausted than he’d allow anyone to think, another cough escaping his lips. 

“What other option do we have?” Sadie took a few steps back towards the rest of camp, “Go wake Dutch, we need to figure something out,” Arthur nodded. 

Bursting into the tent, Arthur approached the two men resting peacefully close together. His chest tightened a little, memories of being a kid overwhelming thought of the Pinkertons for a moment. Things had been simpler, so much simpler. And happier for it. That was all Arthur wanted, in that moment, at least. To just be a kid again, to be able to walk into a town without dodging bullets, to not have his life under constant threat, to be able to sleep without worry. To see Hosea healthy again and Dutch happy again and everyone... safe. It was a nice thought, a nice idea, but... nothing more. 

Shaking the thoughts from his mind to focus again, Arthur placed a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and shook him gently, almost regretfully.    
“Dutch, Dutch wake up,” he stirred a little, opening his eyes a fraction. 

“Arthur?” he mumbled, throat hoarse, Arthur pretending not to notice the few remaining tear tracks littering his cheeks, “What is it, has something happened?” 

“Yeah, Pinkertons, they’ve got John and they’ll be here soon,” 

Dutch swore under his breath, moving to get up, which stirred Hosea beside him.

“Join the rest, I’ll be there in a second,” Arthur nodded, leaving and approaching Sadie, who was talking to Charles and Javier.

Dutch grabbed his gun, swiftly checking if it was loaded as he paced the small area. 

“What’s happened?”

“Don’t worry about it, Hosea, nothing important, everything will be fine,” 

“Dutch, I know that  ain’t  true, please just tell me, I deserve to know,”

“Hosea, seriously everything’s-” 

“ _ Dutch.” _

_ “ _ Fine, okay, the Pinkertons are coming and they’ve got John and nobody is strong enough to fight and we are all definitely going to die and it’s all my fault and...” Dutch sighed, shaking his head as if to shake away the whirlwind of thoughts before the spiral entirely overtook him. Hosea made to get up, pain still throbbing in his abdomen but trying to ignore it. Noticing the movement, Dutch pushed Hosea back down gently, ignoring his protest and kneeling beside his cot. He ran a weary hand down Hosea’s cheek, lingering at his jaw for a moment before moving to take Hosea’s hand. He retrieved a handgun, pressing it into  Hosea’s  palm and closing his fingers around it. 

“Just in case, okay?” Dutch looked into Hosea’s eyes anxiously. 

“Please, let me go with you, I won’t even know if something happens if I’m stuck here, I-”

“No, darlin’, just stay here, everything will be okay, but you’re injured, we can’t risk it,” Dutch had gathered both of Hosea’s hands into his own.

“Please...”  Dutch just shook his head, smiling a little at his partner. He kissed his cheek, whispering, “I love you.” Hosea didn’t respond, but didn’t let go of his hand as Dutch moved away. 

“And how will I know if it goes wrong?” Hosea stopped Dutch before he left. 

“I think you’ll realise. Even in your old age, I’m sure you can hear gunshots nearby,” 

“ _ Ha, ha.”  _ Dutch grinned at Hosea, though Hosea still refused to look at him. He moved one foot outside of the tent, but paused.

“And if I die a most tragic and horrible death?” 

“Why would you say something like that?” Hosea snapped his view to Dutch, who was half out of the tent with his back to him. 

“If I do?” Hosea scowled.

“I love you, too.” Dutch smiled as he left, making his way to the group  near  the campfire. 

Hosea listened as Dutch’s footsteps grew quieter in the distance. Once he was certain Dutch was far enough away, he took a deep breath. This was... definitely going to hurt. Leaning on his hands, he elevated himself slowly until he was upright, wincing at the pain. Wrapping his hand around the gun nervously, he assessed the bandages tied haphazardly over the wound, which gushed with blood again, bandage already soaked red, more than a little concerningly so. The wound definitely needed redressing, but now wasn’t the time. Breathing forced to slow, Hosea swung his legs over the edge of the cot. The ground seemed to sway beneath his feet a little, and he hadn’t even stood yet. This was a terrible, terrible idea. But he was always responsible, so, for once, the dumb idea seemed the best one.  _ One... two... three...  _ With a surge of adrenaline, Hosea pushed himself to his feet, crying out at the pain consuming him. He was standing. It hurt. But he was standing. Swaying on the spot a little, like a tree amidst a hurricane, he willed himself to keep going, keep trying. Heart racing wildly, he took a small, weak step forward. 

“Shit...” He clutched at the fire roaring at his stomach, losing balance as the agony drowned him. The ground hard, the impact as he collapsed like pouring whiskey over the flames. This was a terrible idea. But now, now he couldn’t give up; he’d managed to stand once, had almost stepped forwards... It was dumb, but not impossible for him to make it to the exit. Besides, Dutch would kill him when he found he’d attempted to leave despite being  _ specifically  _ told not to. If he died trying, it would make no difference. But he wasn’t going to die. No. He’d been presented many an opportunity to die previously, this wasn’t going to be the one he took. Extending a hand to the gun he’d dropped as he fell, he narrowed his eyes determinedly. If he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl, drag himself across the ground if he must, but god damn it he was going to make it out of this tent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long, I've been busy with a lot of other things. I hope this chapter is a good enough return :)


	9. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch leaves Hosea for ten seconds and has a (minor) panic attack

“Dutch.”

“Mrs Adler.” The exchange was courteous in nature, but there was little time for courtesy with such pressing matters. “So, what’s the plan?”

Sadie couldn’t help but smirk, “thought you were the one who came up with those?” 

“I... Don’t think I’m in a good position to be making any plans right now,” it wasn’t until he said that that Dutch realised just how  _ tired _  he was. Sad, hurt, lost, anxious, afraid and... tired. Sadie, however, was taken aback, as was everyone surrounding them. Sure, he was right, it was true, but... Dutch Van Der Linde would never admit to not having a plan, and much less to being unable to make any. She didn’t respond. For a moment there was silence, and in that moment, they could almost feign peace... almost. 

“Well, someone needs to think of a plan, and quick,” Arthur spoke up, receiving mumbles and nods of agreement from Charles and Javier, “so... anyone got any ideas?” Again, silence. 

“So, what? Is this our plan? To stand here, waiting for the Pinkerton’s to come shoot us?” Javier broke the silence. 

“Doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea...” Dutch hadn’t even meant to say it, had regretted the  words as  they tumbled out. 

“Jesus... Come on, Dutch, you have to have something?” Javier was becoming impatient.

“It isn’t his fault this is happening, just-” Charles retorted. 

“ Kinda  is...” Arthur whispered, just loud enough to hear. He hadn’t really meant  it;  did he blame Dutch? No. But the entire situation was frustrating and he sure had made some questionable choices, he was supposed to be the leader... But it wasn’t his fault. Not really. He glanced at Dutch, who didn’t look back, seemingly lost, like he’d heard what had been said but barely acknowledged it, like he wasn’t quite sure where he was or what he was doing. 

“That was... uncalled for,” Dutch was barely aware of who had said it.  _ Uncalled for.  _ Not  _ untrue. _ So,  it was his fault, it was all his fault. He could hear others speaking over each other, the voices fusing into one collective force, droning in the background of his thoughts. He hated how easily overwhelmed he had begun to get. Hated how he felt like he might collapse, how he could hardly breathe.  _ What the fuck is wrong with you? _  After all the times, not just now but always, Hosea had insisted Dutch can’t blame himself, that nobody else did, that everything would be okay... It was all bullshit. He  _ should  _ blame himself, everyone else did, it  _ was  _ all his fault. He could hear people almost shouting, arguing. He couldn’t breathe.  _ It was all his fault.  _ Where was Hosea? He needed Hosea, to come rescue him and hold him and say it’d all be okay. He was nothing without Hosea. He was nothing anyway, but with Hosea he was less of nothing and had some kind of purpose. Some kind of reason. Where was he? Somebody was saying his name, maybe... He thought he could hear somebody saying his name. But he  _ couldn’t  _ hear. He couldn’t speak. Or move. Or  _ breathe.  _ He just wanted to breathe.  There was a hand on his shoulder, grabbing him, tearing his skin and crushing his bones, he hated it, had to get away. Blindly pushing out proved unsuccessful. There were more now, trying to force him to walk, but he couldn’t move, he just had to get away. But he couldn’t move. Those hands, on his shoulders and arms and back, he had to get away, his own hands shaking. Where was Hosea?

Hosea was in pain. Severe pain. This had been a stupid idea. But stupid ideas were his speciality, he’d been dealing with Dutch for some twenty years, he was more than used to stupid ideas, he just wasn’t usually the one making them. Except for... this time. He pressed a hand against his wound, trying to stop the searing pain, as if that was possible.

“Fuck...” The blood on his hand was thin, glistening red in the dim light from the gap of his tent flaps. What had he expected? It was too late to give up now, though, not that he wanted to. Muscles tense and limbs shaking, he dragged himself forwards, barely. But barely was better than not at all. Pausing to indulge in the air flooding his lungs, only just realising how he’d been holding his breath, he looked ahead. He was so close to the exit of his tent. Adrenaline and determination surged through him and he pushed himself forwards the few feet. He wasn’t outside yet, but he was sat beside the exit. He shifted to a slightly more comfortable position (slightly.) After the effort it had taken to get here, he allowed himself a little break. Just to regain his breath and steady his hands. Then, once the pain in his stomach reduced just a  _ little,  _ then he’d think about what to do next. 

“Excuse me, may I have your attention,” The voice almost entirely pulled Dutch out of his panic, gripped Hosea entirely from his spot in the tent, and had everyone in camp frozen. “Mr Van Der Linde, good to see you again.”  _ Milton. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while. Sorry for not updating, I've been dealing with a lot of personal stuff and fucked mental health, whatever, you know how it be sometimes. Thankyou to anyone who continues to read this despite the long and frequent breaks, i can only hope it;s somewhat entertaining if nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember the immediate events after Guarma and i am too lazy to research so i just didn't. All that matters is the gay cowboy dads get their happy ending. Eventually, that is.


End file.
